


he built a fire just to keep me warm

by midzyzen



Series: the last great fire nation dynasty [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avatar: The Last Airbender AU, Childhood Friends, Epistolary, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Zuko!Donghyuck, but with some little twists (GAY PPL), can be read as standalone, gay little zuko!!, like half of it the rest is normal narration, this follows the show's plot from zuko's exile to his coronation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midzyzen/pseuds/midzyzen
Summary: When Donghyuck gets exiled, he thinks he's lost it all: his family, his home, his honour.But not Minhyung; he's never lost Minhyung.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: the last great fire nation dynasty [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930810
Comments: 42
Kudos: 133





	1. Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...hehet
> 
> a few notes, zuko is aged up to be more donghyuck's age so he's 16 when he's exiled and 19 when he comes back home. mark is 20.  
> second, mark doesn't really have a counterpart in the series, but i imagined their relationship to mirror sozin and rokus before roku is discovered to be avatar and they're just happy gay men.  
> third, there's a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1YYf82S6XWbyHfQ6uRsl9x?si=wiE4l_M9RxqErarYzjYlQw), title is from call it what you want by taylor swift who is directly responsible for anything i wrote here btw, as per usual... all my love to that woman.  
> 

Minhyung writes to him when he’s gone.

The first letter comes somewhere over a month after his banishment, delivered in the middle of the night by a messenger hawk that Donghyuck immediately recognises to be one of Minhyung’s. He’s alone on the main deck, pacing back and forth, unable to sleep. The hawk lands on his shoulder, a red ribbon attached to the canister on its back. Red is traditionally supposed to signify strong feelings of the sender.

Donghyuck scoffs. Minhyung is ridiculous.

He takes the rolled letter out, but doesn’t open it just yet. Taking a look around to make sure no one has seen him, Donghyuck hides the letter in the pocket on his coat and heads below deck where his room is. The hawk stays perched on his shoulder without budging making a noise — Minhyung trained it well.

The hinges sound despite Donghyuck’s best effort to shut the door behind him quietly. It’s an old cruiser, the model resembles the ones his great grandfather Sozin used at the onset of the War, give or take a hundred years ago. It was strikingly paltry compared to the modern ships and Donghyuck keeps being reminded of that every time they pass by a Fire Nation cruiser on their way.

It’s old and rusted all over and Donghyuck’s cabin is not fit for a crown prince. He doesn’t even have a desk, so he lies down on his bed to read Minhyung’s letter. With trembling hands, he unrolls the paper to reveal the familiar illegible font. It’s better than usual, Donghyuck notices, Minhyung must have been trying to make it nice.

_“Dear Haechan,”_ the letter reads. Smart move on Minhyung’s part, using the nickname only he addresses Donghyuck with to conceal their identities. _Haechan_ — that is, full sun — _isn’t it fitting for you?_ Minhyung used to say. Donghyuck can’t help thinking it’s not anymore.

_“I’m sorry I write so late,”_ he continues, _“I wanted to write to you the moment you left, but I worried it would put either of us in danger. I dread to imagine what else they could do to you._

_“I wanted to join as part of your crew, after all, I was your training partner for so many years. I was supposed to be promoted as your guard at one point, at least that’s what one of the Commanders once implied. However, despite my pleading, my superiors were adamant. I have to remain in the Palace. I can only hope your uncle is good enough company. Send the General my regards.”_

Oh, Iroh will be ecstatic to hear from him. Or, would be, if Donghyuck considered telling him about the letter in the first place. He’s particularly fond of Minhyung, who is the only person under the age of fifty to enjoy a game of Pai Sho. They played once, his uncle and Minhyung, and it ended with the latter’s defeat. Usually a sore loser, his friend accepted the loss humbly. Donghyuck remembers the stupid smile on Minhyung’s face when Iroh praised his strategy.

Despite his overt adversity towards Pai Sho, Donghyuck didn’t have it in him to mock them that day.

_“I went to your Agni Kai,”_ as did everyone. Attendance was compulsory. _“The memory still haunts me every night, so much that I wonder if your pain is inherently my own. I couldn’t look at it when he hurt you. I just heard you scream and it was enough for me to die. They wouldn’t even let me see you in the infirmary and you didn’t bid me goodbye before you left — I felt hollow knowing I couldn’t be by your side when you needed me.”_

Donghyuck catches himself thumbing over the patch covering the left side of his face. The stinging has subdued recently, but it’s far from healed. The medics say the scar will most likely be etched on his face permanently. The burn his father left him with is nothing but a suitable illustration of the stigma Donghyuck now carries.

It was his intention for Minhyung never to see it. Or, at least not until Donghyuck is back with his burn healed and the story behind it forgotten. It concerns him, though, how it will look. Maybe it’s the last thing he should be worrying about, but he wonders if Minhyung will find it in him to look at Donghyuck the same way he used to.

Because Minhyung used to tell him he looked beautiful when there was no one listening. Donghyuck wonders if he would still mean it if Minhyung saw him now.

_“But I am beside you, albeit not in person. I am loyal to you and our friendship above the Nation,”_ Minhyung lives on a death wish these days, it seems. Donghyuck makes a mental note to burn the letter once he’s done memorising every word — punishments for treason tend to fall in the unspeakable category.

_“I don’t favour the latter in the least, these days. Not when the Nation does what it did to you. Excuse the treacherous sentiment, but we’ve promised to be truthful with each other no matter what. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, about the War._

_“I think about you more, though. I miss you now and I’ll miss you every day you’re gone but I know you’ll come back one day — if anyone can find the Avatar it’s you.”_ Donghyuck worries that Minhyung thinks of him too highly. _“No one else is that stubborn, after all. I’ll be waiting for you._

_“Yours.”_

It’s not signed, but it doesn’t have to be.

“Yours,” Donghyuck whispers to himself, tracing each stroke of ink with his finger as though he can’t fathom their weight. He smiles, a feeling so foreign after the many days spent without a single reason to. “ _Mine._ ”

He sits on the floor with his legs crossed, pulling out a parchment of his own and dabbing a brush in the inkpot.

* * *

He ends up not sending his reply to Minhyung after all. There’s a lot of factors coming into it that Donghyuck hates to dwell on, so he doesn’t. It’s not like there aren’t more pressing issues at hand, anyways; every day is spent on diligent exploration of every inch of the colonial coastline.Each day, they arrive at a port and go into the neighbouring villages to ask for the Avatar. It proves fruitless and humbling, as expected. Still, Donghyuck sees no other way.

It’s the travel that bothers him. The wasted hours spent at sea with nothing productive to do. Donghyuck asks his uncle time and time again if he can resume training, but is met with Iroh’s firm refusal. He says it’s best if Donghyuck heals completely before they proceed with fire bending lessons. One to keep his temper short, Donghyuck fumes with every rejection, letting Iroh know it’s not like he wants to train with anyone else than Minhyung either.

It’s not quite the vicious comeback he has in mind when Iroh raises his eyebrows with a knowing smile.

Routine is something Donghyuck finds grounding at sea. It’s reminiscent of home, any home, and gives a sense of stability in the fleeting present. Donghyuck hates all things precarious; his uncle tells him it’s something he ought to learn to grow out of for his own sanity’s sake. After all, life in itself is precarious, as are all its moments, feelings and people. But Donghyuck needs to hold onto things, especially now when he’s too weak to stand his own ground.

When the second letter comes unexpectedly, he wonders if Minhyung is someone stable enough to hold onto.

_“Dear Haechan,”_ Minhyung writes. _“I understand if you don’t want to write back. You’ve been through a lot and I recognise that you need time to mentally adjust. Still, when my hawk came back with no letter attached, I was upset. Only now do I realise how much your neglect really affects me. Or maybe it’s something I’ll grow used to with time, after all, I haven’t had much experience of you being so distant.”_

Although Minhyung sounds awfully confident and ought to be knocked down a peg, Donghyuck doesn’t have the strength to play denial games with himself. Not when his friend is right — ever since they were young, they were inseparable. They were children when they were first introduced and took a liking to each other immediately. The easily impressionable Donghyuck would follow Minhyung, who was one year his senior and it felt like a lot at the time, like a shadow and Minhyung, kind and doting, did anything but take advantage of that.

The older they got, the less important their age difference became. They were the best of friends besides training partners, both of them gravitating towards one another. It’s a bond they never grew out of until Donghyuck’s exile — being ripped apart from Minhyung like this was like having his arm cut off.

It must have hurt Minhyung, too, Donghyuck realises, Minhyung must be hurting like he is.

_“I hope my comment about the Nation isn’t the reason behind your silence. I know you love your people and our tradition, as do I. But I can’t be in sincere favour of the cruelty inflicted by those in power. I’m sure you understand, you’ve never been cruel, it’s not in your nature. That’s more your sister’s forte. I just wonder to what extent does the end really justify the means, and if that thin line hasn’t been long trampled on by our Nation’s politics._

_“I digress. Pardon me for not signing those letters, by the way, but I seem to dabble in treason more often than not when I’m being honest with you. Which as we both very well know is a felony punishable by prison or worse and I’d hate to put any more distance between us. Say, I hope you know who’s writing to you. It would be rather hysterical if you didn’t figure out who I am,”_ Donghyuck scoffs, but it’s fond. Minhyung still likes to act silly to humour him.

_“Although I have just realised I’ve been addressing you as Haechan, a rather useless protective measure given anyone would be able to tell who you are through the magic of reading comprehension and basic deduction. I don’t know of anyone else calling you Haechan but myself, rather obvious of a notion if you remember I was the one who came up with it._

_“Now that I think about it, I’d probably be upset if anyone else called you Haechan. I’m quite protective of it, like I am about most things related to our friendship. I’m sorry I get so upset over every little thing these days. Paradoxically, writing to you upsets me just as much as not writing to you. I think your absence has made me sensitive. I worry, too, I ask about you as many times as I can without alerting anyone of the unseemly fondness I bear for you. I miss you. Writing to you feels a bit like talking to you, which helps. I delude myself into thinking I’m able to talk with you again._

_“One might note that such one-sided conversation is like talking to a wall. What one doesn’t realise is that with your stubborn nature, talking to you in person is essentially talking to a wall,”_ Donghyuck vows to himself that the first thing he’ll do upon his return is slap Minhyung on the shoulder in retaliation for this comment. _“One of your very endearing qualities, I must add,”._ On second thought, maybe he’ll let Minhyung off the hook.

_“Take your time to respond if you need. Or don’t respond at all if you don’t feel like it. I’d hate to force you into telling me anything. If you may, however, send me back my hawk with a ribbon this time, so that I know you’re getting those. Send a yellow ribbon if it’s you and you want me to continue writing and blue if it’s you and you want me to give you space. I’ll understand. In the case that someone else is receiving my letters or you’re simply not reading them, I will continue practicing the art of being upset._

_“Yours,”_ the letter finishes in what Donghyuck figures to be typical Minhyung fashion. It means more to him than it should, probably, but to the prince in exile, it’s a reminder that he’s got someone to return to. Someone there who loves Donghyuck unconditionally, just like Donghyuck loves him.

Losing Minhyung is something he didn’t realise he feared this much until he came so close to it. Until he lost the privilege to take their friendship for granted.

Donghyuck hates burning Minhyung’s letters, but it has to be done. For both their safety. He burns his reply, too, just like the last one.

* * *

The issue lies in the nature of their relationship.

Donghyuck is scared to voice his thought out loud, because even iron walls of inconspicuous cruiser cabins have ears in the Fire Nation. Let alone the palace, where Donghyuck was particularly wary of his sister with her penchant for eavesdropping and blackmail. Minhyung and he knew better than to ever clarify what must have been running on both their minds for a while now, but their understanding of each other went beyond the verbal.

At one point, Minhyung would blink different and Donghyuck could tell, that’s how close they were.

They were so close that no one ever wasted time questioning their friendship. No one but themselves, that is. The bond that people liked to gloss as brotherhood, innocent camaraderie, a grown out childhood amity — when God, it was everything but.

It was the hours they spent training fire bending and combat, Minhyung always making sure to tell Donghyuck he let him win when Donghyuck got the better of him. It was the smile Minhyung would give him from across the room at functions Donghyuck was forced to attend. It was Donghyuck kicking Minhyung’s shin underneath the dinner table to get his attention. It was Minhyung’s laugh that came so easy when they were together.

It was the moments where Minhyung took off his helmet and ran his hands through his hair but it was still unkempt and Donghyuck couldn’t look away. It was Minhyung’s hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder to calm him down when he couldn’t keep his temper in check. It was Donghyuck’s hand on Minhyung’s waist, lingering for a second too long, reluctant to move away. It was Minhyung making sure no one was around to catch them sneaking around before leaning in to kiss him in the dark of the hallway.

That’s what it was. That’s what they were.

It sounds ridiculous in his head, but Donghyuck often thinks Minhyung and him are like boyfriend and girlfriend. Which doesn’t work too well either, because there’s no girlfriend in question. Boyfriend and boyfriend? Donghyuck’s never heard of anything like that. Is it wrong, he often asks himself, only to realise it probably is. It’s best not to stand out in the Fire Nation and he learned it the hard way.

One can understand the panic that overtook him when his uncle witnessed Minhyung’s messenger hawk land on Donghyuck’s shoulder with practised precision in the bright of day. He could play it off as a note of military nature, or a letter back home from Yeji — no, Iroh’s old not stupid, that’s a weak excuse — but before he can come up with something, his uncle smiles at him.

“Oh, Minhyung again,” he points out, as though it’s some sort of daily occurrence. “Go ahead, don’t mind me.”

“What do you mean again?” Donghyuck splutters.

“We exchange letters, obviously,” his uncle says, like Donghyuck should be cognisant of such common knowledge. “You won’t even bother sending him a reply, it’s no wonder he’s taken to asking me about you.”

“What do you mean he asks you about me?” He can already feel his anger rising and with no one to quell it, the consequences may be dire. Still, a scorned Donghyuck doesn’t have the mental state to think ahead, he’s in a vexed headspace of his own with nothing to ground him. “You talk about me behind my back?”

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Donghyuck,” Iroh pours himself a cup of tea and stirs it in his hand gently. He’s unbothered by his nephew’s outbursts, maybe because it’s habitual at this point for Donghyuck to be cross about anything. “Who else could he have written to? He’s worried, and quite frankly I am, too.”

Now, this just fuels Donghyuck’s paranoia. Why would Minhyung go behind his back about it? The least he could have done is tell Donghyuck, let him know instead of betraying his trust like this.

“Well, next time he asks you how I’m doing, tell him I don’t want to hear from him again,” Donghyuck seethes, turning back on his uncle and descending from the deck. He ignores Iroh’s attempts at reasoning with him, making sure to slam the door shut louder than usual just to make a point.

There’s an urge, this vile urge to burn the letter before he can read it, just to prove Minhyung a point. Donghyuck almost gives in, hands trembling with eagerness to set the paper on fire. Almost — because it takes a split second to remember how much it means to him, how he won’t hear from Minhyung again for weeks.

Donghyuck’s got the habit of acting on his emotions, acting before thinking. It backfires, always, sometimes too literally — the burn serves as proof. You’d think Donghyuck would have learned by now, but impulse control is far from his forte. Despite the intention of revenge, the only punishment he inflicts is on his own self. Sometimes he wonders if he was just meant to destroy everything that ever mattered to him, calamitous to himself and everyone around him.

But he can’t do this now, not to Minhyung. Not to them. If he ruins this, he’ll have nothing to return to. Instead of burning the letter like he intended, he smoothens it out gently with his fingers like an apology. “ _Dear Haechan_ ,” he reads and he feels forgiven, “ _in accordance with my newly developed sensitive nature, I almost cried upon receiving your meta-verbal response. I don’t want to jeopardise my luck, but maybe we could try using the colour coded system every once a while. I can ask you a question and give you colour coded answer options, that kind of methodology of communication._

_“As I write this letter, you’ve been gone for half a year now. Somehow, before all this happened, I took your presence for granted. Now I understand how naïve it was on my part. Even if nothing had happened and you had stayed, my place in your life would remain precarious. At one point, you’re going to become the Fire Lord, after all. Even as crown prince, you’d soon have to fulfil duties that inherently don’t involve myself. In fact, it would have to be best if we separated.”_

Donghyuck was never too worried about that part. The possibility of inheriting the throne in the future was slim even before his exile. His father became Fire Lord very early, and knowing his own weak dispositions, Donghyuck wouldn’t be surprised if Ozai outlived him. Or, in case he didn’t, Donghyuck thinks it would be best if Yeji took over as Fire Lord. She’s got leader instincts and was born to rule.

Despite all the bitterness that comes with being inadequate, Donghyuck is able to admit he’s lacking in comparison with his sister. At least it comes with the benefit of not being forced to give up on Minhyung, but he supposes it doesn’t matter now.

_“Dwelling on that is less hurtful than dwelling on when you’ll come back, though. Distance from you, I figure, is measured in infinities. I’d rather take a smaller infinity, where I still get to see you, talk to you, than what we have now. I asked for a holiday to come see you, but my superiors were against it. Obviously, I didn’t disclose the part where I go see you, but maybe I’m just too predictable._

_“Come to think of it, I’ve been outside the Capital City maybe once in my life. It was when we ditched your practice when your father was away,”_ Donghyuck remembers that day. It was when he first realised Minhyung meant more to him than was appropriate. _“We were supposed to go to Shuhon, but the journey would be too long, so we just stayed in one of the caves on the far west of the island and it felt like it was only us and no one else. We were gone for a day, but no one noticed. Guess you weren’t that important of a prince (that’s a joke, so don’t take it personally — you’re the only prince of any importance to me).”_

_“It’s probably a terrible thing to say, but at least there’s a silver lining to your being gone,”_ Minhyung never calls it exile, Donghyuck notices. Which one of them it’s supposed to comfort, he doesn’t know. _“Which is how many places you’ll get to see. I always wanted to visit an Air Temple. Outside the war context, I just heard they’re beautiful. Or see the North Pole, and all of the nature of the Earth Kingdom. There’s so much of the world outside the Fire Nation that they tell us not to care about, but I can’t help being interested. Tell me all about them when you come back, so that I can travel vicariously through you.”_

_“Come back soon, Haechan,”_ it’s not him Minhyung should be convincing _, “everywhere feels foreign when you’re not around. There’s no home without you in it._

_Yours.”_

Much as he feels appeased by Minhyung’s letter, Donghyuck’s still a little mad at him. And a Donghyuck scorned is a Donghyuck violent — he crumples up the parchment into a ball and tosses it in the air, shooting a fire dagger at it with perfect aim. The ashes fall to the ground and he begins to craft his response, because Minhyung is now forgiven.

His uncle, too. Donghyuck returns to the main deck sheepishly when it’s already past dusk. Interrupting whatever conversation Iroh was having with the crew, Donghyuck says, “I didn’t mean it.” He doesn’t look his uncle in the eyes, in the fear that he will see right through him. Something tells him Iroh already has, though. “What I said before.”

“Very well,” Iroh smiles good-naturedly and pats Donghyuck on the back. “Anything you’d want me to pass on instead?”

There are too many things Donghyuck wants to say, so many that he can’t pick just one. He shakes his head in reply, “I’ll tell him when I come back.”

Something flashes in Iroh’s eyes quickly, so quickly Donghyuck barely manages to catch it. “Very well,” his uncle repeats with a grunt. “Let’s hope the time comes sooner than later.”

_Or ever_ , Donghyuck imagines he wants to add.

* * *

As months bleed into a year, then another, Donghyuck becomes more and more aware that he’s most likely to spend the rest of his life at sea. Unless, of course, his father takes pity on him and takes him back, but something tells Donghyuck Ozai has no pity. Even less so mercy for his disgraced son.

His search for the Avatar continues, though. It can’t cease, even if destined to be futile. The cruiser sails across the waters of the south pole aimlessly, until one day—

—one day, it’s not so aimless anymore.

But life was never kind to Donghyuck, and at this point, he should have expected that his discovery of the Avatar would only bring about more adversity, more hurdles to struggle through. The Avatar, despite being a child not much younger than Donghyuck when he was exiled, is incredibly skilled.

So skilled, that Yuna managed to escape within an hour of being caught. She escapes past the crew, past Iroh and past him, all the chances of Donghyuck’s return home flying away on a monster of some sort. Bison? Donghyuck isn’t sure. It’s not as important in the light of his life falling apart just as he finally managed to get hold of it.

At least she’s alive, he thinks, at least the Avatar is alive and now he knows not to undermine her, he knows just what she’s capable of. It’s nothing like he’s seen before, and Donghyuck finally understands why an Avatar would pose a threat this big to an entire nation. To his relief, Yuna can only bend air — her training is yet to begin. If he can play this right, if he can get to her soon enough, he’ll still have the chance to take her down, hand her over to his father in return for his honour.

His morale are higher than ever and Minhyung’s letters only fuel it.

“ _Dear Haechan,_

_I heard the Avatar has returned,”_ Minhyung writes within a fortnight of Donghyuck’s defeat at the Southern Water Tribe. As always, nothing gets past him. “ _It’s all everyone keeps talking about and that brings me to you. As most things tend to, I have quite the one-track mind._

_“I will say, I’m quite conflicted about the whole thing,”_ as the months went by, Minhyung became more and more… radicalised, so to speak. It’s something Donghyuck should frown upon more than he does. He has his worries about it, though, and they’re not unfound. Minhyung’s safety is at stake because of his disobedience. _“On one hand, two years without you was torture enough and if I were to say what I would give to have you back, I would, without a second of doubt, say ‘anything’. On the other, you know I have been having doubts of the political kind. To put it lightly, I’d rather the Avatar put an end to whatever it is your father is gearing up for than for you, or anyone for the matter, to catch her._

_“(Is she really a teenager? I always thought she’d be an old woman, but I guess Avatars age differently.)”_ Beats Donghyuck. He was equally surprised to find out the Avatar is a child, but now is not the time to question logistics.

_“I have to warn you, a lot of people have set their mind on the pursuit of the Avatar,”_ Oh, Minhyung has no idea. Donghyuck already has Admiral Zhao on his tail, and God knows who else. _“I’ve heardgossips of various generals, commanders, officers of any rank deciding to set out to catch her. Keep that in mind. Anyways, that’s all for the Avatar talk from me, because I’d rather talk about you. Or me, probably,”_ Donghyuck laughs. Yeah. _“When did that line become so blurred?”_

_“Now, reading the same thing must get repetitive, so I’ll try not to talk at length about missing you terribly,”_ Donghyuck wishes he could be offered the means to urge Minhyung to carry on, because he can never get enough of it, _“or whatever I write about whenever I get the chance. To let you on on the behind the scenes of the process, it’s really rather haphazard. I sit down and write everything that I remember wanting to tell you in person only to realise for the nth time you’re not around for me to tell you things. I can’t seem to unlearn you._

_“You know what, Haechan, one of the things that always bothered me was just how much reassurance you needed. Not in the way where I was annoyed because I had to reassure you, believe me, I’m voluntarily quite vocal about these things, but more how you were conditioned to seek it from other parties than yourself. I wish you’d find self-worth more than I wish you’d find the Avatar._

_“I think about this every time you don’t write back. It might sound a little harsh, but I do think you’d handle it worse than I do, were our roles to be reversed,”_ oh _,_ definitely. There’s not much room for argument, much as it hurts to admit. _“Of course, I will get upset, but I’ve yet to question us, our relationship. How you feel for me. The problem is that you think a lot, Haechan. Sometimes too much. You were taught to question everything and I think even now you still question us a little.”_

Again, Minhyung’s not wrong. In all fairness, who can blame him? All the good things in his life have been taken away from him one by one, his mother, his honour, his home — it’s shocking enough fate let Minhyung hang around this long. Donghyuck reckons it’s saving best for last, just so that it will hurt more.

_“And I guess what I’m trying to say is you don’t have to. We always go through things together, that’s how we are. When I think of you, the word soulmate comes to mind,”_ Donghyuck smiles involuntarily. Minhyung has no idea how pretty it sounds. _“I know it’s probably as embarrassing for you to read as it was for me to write, but I think it makes sense. No matter what, we’re meant to be in each other’s lives. In this significant, positive way that it’s always been. That’s how I know you’ll come back, in the end, because in the long game, it’s us._

_Yours (not in the figure of speech kind of way).”_

He has no chance to even begin thinking up a reply, because a knock interrupts him. “We’re pulling up at Kyoshi,” a crew member announces outside the door. Rumours reached Donghyuck a couple of days ago that this is where Yuna has been staying.

He begins to put on his armour. Minhyung can wait a while; Donghyuck has an island to burn down to make sure he delivers his reply in person.

* * *

He doesn’t have much time.

Donghyuck adjusts the helmet’s visor nervously, hoping the scar doesn’t peak through. He has been paranoid about it the moment Iroh sneaked him in on Zhao’s cruiser, but has managed to blend in as a crew member until now. He sneaks down the corridor unnoticed, locking himself in one of the storage rooms.

The parchment is crumpled, but it will have to do. Donghyuck spreads it out on the floor, presses it down with the inkpot his uncle smuggled for him. The corners still fold up, but he can only hope Minhyung won’t mind it much.

_“Dear,”_ he wishes Minhyung had an alias he could use, but alas. His handwriting is shaky and barely legible, but comfort is no longer a priority. “ _I’m on the North Pole. I’m rumoured to be dead but that’s not true. Zhao’s assassination attempt was futile, but he doesn’t know. If you get this letter, though, I died here, on the North Pole, in my final attempt to catch the Avatar._

_“I’m sorry I never wrote back. Or, I did, I just never sent my letters. Somehow, I thought that I wasn’t worthy of writing to you, not until my honour is restored. I know you believe different, but I, myself, wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye when I’m disgraced with a mark on my face to remind both of us._

_“Every time you wrote to me, however, I felt like a person again. You’re my favourite thing about home and the one I miss the most in all this. You write funny, you ramble often when we talk, but I didn’t know you would ramble on paper. It really felt like talking to you, every letter felt like the ghost of you was paying me a visit._

_“I’ve realised a lot of things about us when I left. Somewhere in the back of my head, I was always plagued by the notion that our friendship was as arranged as most of my life. You stayed by my side because you feared me, maybe, or for the benefits it could give you. Now I know it was groundless — you risked so much just to let me know I’ve got someone to return to and you stood by me when my reputation was at its lowest._

_“I also see that I don’t need you in person to feel close to you. I’d rather talk to you through a glass wall than be able to touch you and give up talking to you. This made more sense in my head, I’m not too good with putting feelings into words. I just know no one will ever understand me like you do, I’ll never enjoy telling anyone anything like I enjoy telling you things. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t write back, a self-inflicted punishment._

_“You asked me once where I was and what I’ve seen. I was ashamed to realise I didn’t really care — places I’ve been to I’ve automatically assigned to either of the two categories. One, places where the Avatar was, is or could be. Two, places where the Avatar isn’t. Ever since your letter came, I’ve been starting to pay more attention though._

_“Take now, I’m at the North Pole, where the Avatar is. I’m waiting for the right moment to sneak out of Zhao’s ship and finally get her, and to kill time I’m watching the Northern Lights from the window. I was reminded of when you told me fire comes in all colours if you know how to bend well. It was funny, because neither of us knew. They’re pink and green, the lights. Like streaks of coloured fire in the sky._

_“One day, I want to take you here, so we can watch them together in peace. If we’re unable to, I hope you get to see them yourself. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you I love you in person, it’s one of the many regrets I can’t shake off._

_“Take care when I’m gone or I’ll haunt you in the bad way._

_Yours,_

_Haechan.”_

It’s not everything, because Donghyuck owes Minhyung two years of all he’s been itching to tell him. But it’s enough; an apology, an explanation, a declaration, a farewell. Closure for the both of them.

Zhao’s cruiser is much bigger than his, so there are much more places to sneak out to and hide in. Donghyuck and Iroh use it to their advantage, meeting on one of the lower deck lookouts. He hands his uncle the rolled up parchment, inkblots staining his fingers.

“Make sure he gets it if I don’t make it back,” he asks of Iroh, who nods solemnly. Donghyuck takes a good look at him — the man who took care of him for over two years, like a father he wishes he had. At first, Donghyuck thought it was symbiosis; he lost a father, Iroh lost a son, so they made it work.

Now, he thinks Iroh has always been more of a father to him than Ozai. In a better world, they stay together and Donghyuck doesn’t need to risk his life to prove he deserves a family. But people want what they can’t have and Donghyuck has always been far too human for anyone’s liking.

And so he wants too much. One last hug, a few last worried, fatherly advice, one last goodbye, and Donghyuck jumps into the ice-cold of the North Sea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!! [buy me a ko-fi](http://ko-fi.com/joonswig) // [twitter](https://twitter.com/neotshy)


	2. Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo this is kind of a filler but the third final chapter is much longer and is in the making and it has. well. mark in it so yeah that's a thing. hope you still enjoy it!!! and see u soon on the final instalment hehet...also!! if u havent read the first part of the series, ryujin is essentially mai and their interaction in this chapter is based on the comic book series where mai goes on a date with zuko to get him to come back home or sth like that. also mai in this au is in love with ty lee for personal reasons

They kneel at the riverbank. Donghyuck draws a knife from his pocket and cuts off his ponytail. Iroh follows suit and they watch their hair float away with the current. It’s a symbol of status at home, one they’ve inevitably been deprived of.

Donghyuck retrieves the letter he wrote to Minhyung and he can’t burn it, he’s unable. Instead, he soaks it in the river water and watches it disintegrate, watches the love that he poured out fall into soggy, pitiful pieces.

Soulmates, that’s what Minhyung told him they were before. He tries to find an ounce of hope that someday, they’ll see each other again, but he’s not strong enough. Then Iroh puts a hand over his shoulder and Donghyuck is grounded. Any urge to fall into the river himself are quelled.

He stands up. “We need new names,” Donghyuck tells his uncle.

“Do you have any ideas?”

* * *

On the third anniversary of his exile, Donghyuck asks his uncle for the day off at the Jasmine Dragon. With a light smile concealing a heavy heart, Iroh lets him go. Even though Donghyuck has been doing better, they both know that, he still needs time to himself. To clear his head, forget about everything else in the world.

This is one of those days and for good reason, if Donghyuck says so himself.

It’s not the usual wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing that Donghyuck would usually succumb to. He doesn’t hide under the thin, crisp sheets of his bed, but goes outside instead. He was never really allowed to walk outside of the palace, back home; if he did, it was always with a guard, or oftentimes Minhyung standing in for one.

He feels like an equal, here, which is strange, but not unwelcome. All his life, he was either above or below people. When they saw his scar, they thought banished prince, outcast. Here, they treat him as their own because of it. Especially in the lower ring, where Donghyuck is headed, people look at him in understanding.

Even though life in the upper ring is comfortable, Donghyuck is oddly fond of the lower one. It’s bustling with noise, refugees such as himself. The streets are cramped, dangerous to walk alone at night, their smell putrid to the nose, but they’re real. He still knows his way around, remembers the shortcuts and soon enough he finds himself in the centre — the Black Market.

You can get almost anything here; his uncle would get a brand of fire nation tea to brew, while Donghyuck eyed the swords on display, probably stolen. He would have gotten them for himself in an attempt to replace the collection he had back home, but they’re a pain to carry and his twin broadswords suffice.

Donghyuck always thought he was a better swordsman than he was firebender. But now that he can’t practice bending, he misses it.

He stops by one of the stands selling smuggled animals; they look pitiful, stuck in cages far too small to be comfortable. Digging into his pocket, he pulls out what’s left of this week’s pay — enough to maybe buy one of them and release it.

The store owner picks up on his interest and invites him to take a closer look inside. “We have more on the back,” the woman tells him. “Fire Nation ones. Just got delivered.”

Donghyuck follows her in a little too hastily.

There’s tiger monkeys, flutter bats, squirrel toads — but Donghyuck’s eyes immediately gravitate to the messenger hawks, similar to the ones Minhyung used to send him. They look legitimate and the shopkeeper confirms — they were trained for fire nation military and captured during one of the deliveries to the colonies.

“You can send a letter to anyone,” she informs him, even though Donghyuck is well aware. “Anywhere around the world.”

“That’s all I have,” Donghyuck empties his pocket. “Is that enough?”

“Barely,” she says with a scowl, but takes the money anyway. She hands him a cage with one of the more frail-looking birds, but Donghyuck couldn’t care less. She covers it with a piece of cloth and sends him out, like it was a waste of her time.

He doesn’t let it out at once; he takes the monorail back to the upper ring. There are no seats, so he clutches the handlebar and the cage tightly, precious cargo. On the way from the station, he holds it to his chest, like it might slip out of his hands any minute.

They make it back in one piece.

Donghyuck sits on the ledge of the window of his and Iroh’s apartment, weighing his options. His uncle has yet to close up shop, so Donghyuck has time on his hands for introspection. He slowly takes off the material and the hawk screeches at him the moment light shines through into the cage. It still has a canister attached to its back with the symbol of the Fire Nation etched on it.

If he wanted to, Donghyuck could send Minhyung a letter, now. Let him know he’s alive. If the roles were reversed, that’s what he would have wanted, yes — to know Minhyung is alive. It’s been three years, though, several months without contact whatsoever. Does Minhyung still care?

He does, Donghyuck, he still cares. But it’s unreasonable to expect the same.

Out the window, Ba Sing Se stretches out. It’s so vast, as large as the night sky, as deep as an ocean. The Capital was far less impressive. Donghyuck can see the Jasmine Dragon from the window, it’s not too far from the apartment. A city this big makes you feel small, Donghyuck thinks, makes you simple.

His purpose in life is just that now, simple. He wants to run the shop with Iroh, maybe expand it in different locations. It’s humble, but Donghyuck realises it’s nothing wrong. He likes it, the clarity that comes with simplicity. He’s got routine, he’s got stability, it envelopes him in a blanket of comfort he was deprived of growing up.

When your life is as simple as it is, being good comes almost naturally. Donghyuck is a good person; he helps his neighbours carry groceries upstairs, smiles at customers when taking their orders, thanks his uncle for another day of work every evening. It’s pleasant, it’s easy, it’s something he feels inclined towards.

He’s coped with never seeing Minhyung again. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to write him a letter, because it’s a chapter he’s managed to close. If there was a chance he could see Minhyung again, even for a second, he’d take it without a moment of hesitation. But there’s none, and life goes on regardless. He might as well spend it pleasantly.

When missing Minhyung hurts so much his throat tightens and eyes start to itch, Donghyuck remembers he’d be proud of him. Minhyung would be proud of his simple, good life, the one he and Iroh made for themselves. He’d be proud Donghyuck’s temper has been calmed, that smiling comes easy to him, that kindness is his second nature. He’d be proud that Donghyuck chose to help Yuna instead of chasing her, that he chose to cut from what Minhyung thought to be their nation’s wrongdoings.

And that’s enough; he’ll always miss Minhyung, like he’ll always miss bending, like he’ll always miss the palace gardens. But honestly, Donghyuck is proud of himself, for being able to live his life without them.

He sets the hawk free, takes off the weight of the canister and watches it fly away into the distance until he loses sight of it.

* * *

Donghyuck’s uncle always told him that acting rash, hasty, thoughtless, is one day going to be the cause of his downfall. Maybe he’s right, but Donghyuck doesn’t know. Right now the only thinghe’s certain to have fallen are the walls of Ba Sing Se.

Donghyuck himself — on thin ice.

On the one hand, if what Yeji’s saying is remotely close to being accurate (which is not too probable, to begin with), Donghyuck will finally be allowed to return home from exile. It’s been three years already; he was due to turn sixteen the year he was banished and he’s turned nineteen a few weeks back, soon after their move to Ba Sing Se. He wishes for nothing more than to end what’s been the most miserable few years of his life and for the longest time, coming home was the only solution.

On the other hand, he’s not sure if that’s applicable any longer.

He can’t get past the betrayal flashing in his uncle’s eyes when he chose to help Yeji over him. Not just betrayal, _disappointment_. Donghyuck doesn’t know which one hurts more; abandoning the only person who’s cared for him above the scars, or letting down another father.

Going back home seems like an award he doesn’t deserve. It’s not like he’s killed Yuna either, that was Yeji. While his sister assures him that Ozai is more than happy to take him back, Donghyuck just isn’t sure. He’d rather stay here, in Ba Sing Se, like a soul suspended in purgatory. Yeji isn’t in favour, looking at least annoyed at the idea of Donghyuck not following her back home.

What’s in it for her, Donghyuck has no idea. But she’s definitely getting something out of it, because when Donghyuck remains deaf to her orders, she sends Ryujin to talk him out of staying.

Still, when Ryujin suggests they spend the evening together, he chooses to believe it’s because she’s missed him just as he’s missed her. He’s not stupid, he knows Yeji had something to do with it, but they might as well both be enjoying themselves. He takes her on a walk around the upper ring, reminiscing the strolls he’d enjoy after the Jasmine Dragon would close.

It’s almost miserable that now that he knows the streets like the back of his hand, now that he finally feels familiar with the city, Yeji’s telling him he has to leave. Donghyuck is lost, he’s so lost just like his uncle had predicted, and no place can bear semblance of a home anymore. They pass by one of the stores his uncle and him would get their groceries in and the shopkeeper greets him amicably.

The people don’t know, yet. Of him. Both him and Ryujin are dressed up in Earth Kingdom clothes not to attract attention. If anyone knew who Donghyuck was, they wouldn’t be so happy to see him anymore.

“Why do they call you Haechan here?” Ryujin asks. She still does her hair the way she did all these years back when Donghyuck first met her. The suave, unamused aura hasn’t dissipated either, if anything it just matured. He’s always admired her for how unfazed she was about close to anything. The only Achilles heel of hers came in the form of one Choi Jisu, but it didn’t matter to Donghyuck, whose entire being is an Achilles heel of his own.

“I couldn’t go by Donghyuck in exile,” he explains, like its logistics she’s asking about. “So, I picked a different one.”

The truth is, he had doubts about using this name in particular. Minhyung himself would often say it was their thing; he already had to share Donghyuck with all the world and more, that part he wanted for himself. Donghyuck couldn’t deny him — if they could have it his way, Minhyung wouldn’t have to share him with a living soul.

But Donghyuck is weak, has been weaker than ever without any contact with Minhyung whatsoever. And it wasn’t the right person calling him the right name, but it was enough to pretend.

“It’s nice,” Ryujin doesn’t press and he’s thankful. “It’s quite the life you had here, I heard.”

“Have had,” Donghyuck corrects.

“Had,” Ryujin insists. “You’ve made your choice.”

“It doesn’t mean I have to let it go,” he argues. “I could stay here, I don’t see why I have to go back to the Capital. There’s a lot to do here, military-wise. I don’t understand why she’s sending you to get me to come home, why should she care? She always wanted me gone, anyways.”

Ryujin sighs, as though Donghyuck is missing some obvious point. “Not like that,” she says, but it doesn’t help her case, Yeji’s case. Why should he come back if the purpose is Yeji destroying him herself? “I think she missed you.”

Donghyuck almost tumbles over in laughter. “Yeji? Our Yeji?”

“If you don’t want to come for her, come for me,” Ryujin bites her cheek. Donghyuck can tell his resistance is annoying her. “I lost you, too, you know?”

“Can we spend time together then?” Donghyuck suggests, unfazed. “Without you trying to coerce me into coming back.”

“Fine,” Ryujin sniffs. “Take me to your apartment, then. It’s getting boring.”

They do as she suggests. Ryujin doesn’t seem as impressed with the apartment as Donghyuck was, but doesn’t comment on it. There are only Donghyuck’s things left; Iroh’s were removed by Yeji’s orders. In the privacy of the confined space, Ryujin finally allows herself to hug Donghyuck.

“Why are you so stubborn, Hyuck?” She sighs. “Come back with us.”

“I’m not going to do things just because Yeji’s telling me to,” Donghyuck argues, but doesn’t pull away. It’s been a long while since someone has hugged him.

“So, you’re going to do things despite Yeji telling you to,” Ryujin raises her eyebrow. “That’s still taking her into consideration, when it’s something you should be doing for yourself.”

“Look, I understand she signed you up to convince me—”

“I was just supposed to go on a _date_ with you,” she fake gags at the notion. “Yeji thought it would be convincing enough.”

“Why are you so adamant about it then?” Donghyuck asks.

“You’re my _friend,_ Donghyuck,” Ryujin reminds him. “I want what’s best for you.”

“And how would you know what’s best for me?” He snorts.

“Because I know how it feels. When Yeji came to Omashu, I knew I didn’t have a choice,” Ryujin tells him. “I knew I had to join her and find you, take you down, even. But I’d do it even if it wasn’t her order.”

“How come?”

“She came with Jisu,” she gives him a smile — half wry, half fond. “She came with Jisu and I wanted to see her again. It’s so boring, lifeless, being away from her. I wanted to be with Jisu whatever that would entail. So, I followed. The Donghyuck I knew would do the same.”

“Low blow,” it’s almost shocking, the way Ryujin uses the foundation of their friendship to manipulate him into following Yeji’s orders. There’s something awfully honest about it, though, the raw tone to Ryujin’s confession. It’s as though she’s trying to give him advice through it all, after all, she’s the only one around entitled to do so.

Donghyuck doesn’t know people like himself and Ryujin, other than Minhyung, of course. It’s some kind of a miracle they found each other, one he doesn’t take for granted. It’s hard to tell if she’s opening up to him for his or Yeji’s sake, but Donghyuck is willing to give Ryujin the benefit of the doubt.

“We’re the same,” Ryujin says.

“No, we’re not,” Donghyuck shakes his head.

“We are, in this aspect. Don’t you want to see him again?” Ryujin asks, perfectly frank. Donghyuck doesn’t have a choice but to nod. “Think of the worst thing that can happen. Is it worse than never seeing him again?”

It’s not, nothing is. Donghyuck sets out to the nearest port with Yeji the following morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!! [buy me a ko-fi](http://ko-fi.com/joonswig) // [twitter](https://twitter.com/neotshy) // [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1YYf82S6XWbyHfQ6uRsl9x?si=ifTnBzFAR_yX1O2ucIUSJA)


	3. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last part!! we finally get to meet mark lmao sorry for the silly wait also this gets insanely dialogue heavy hope u dont mind kyaa oing...also omg like two notes before:
> 
> 1/ zuko's coronation doesn't take place immediately after aang ends the war here, like a few weeks later  
> 2/ minhyung is said to be from the clan which is an actual thing in avatar lore and fun fact, kyoshi's fire bending teacher and girlfriend was from that clan i think the gay thing is genetic omg...
> 
> anyways hope u like it hehet

It’s like he never left, but not quite.

Same corridors, same halls Donghyuck had been roaming for years. Same rooms, same gardens, same courtyard — nothing has changed. The familiarity is overwhelming, after years of moving from one foreign place to another without anywhere to stay.

But there’s something deceitful about it, this treacherous undertone that makes Donghyuck feel paranoid. It’s as though someone brought the palace to the ground when he was gone and rebuilt a perfect replica of the original; he entertains whether that could have been the case one sleepless night only to chastise himself for letting his delusions get the better of him.

All in all, if you look at it rationally, it’s escapism. The palace is the same, it’s Donghyuck who’s changed. For better or for worse, he has no idea.

It takes Minhyung a week to finally visit Donghyuck upon his return to the palace. Not more or less, exactly seven days, like Minhyung was counting them down until it was suitable for them to see each other. It was in the morning, too, Donghyuck wasn’t even ready to go out when he heard the rapping on his door.

“Come in,” he ordered. He didn’t look to see who it was, too busy staring at his reflection in the vanity as he put his hair in a ponytail.

“Hi,” he hears Minhyung’s voice and the metal hair tie falls out of his hands to the marble floor with a clink. Donghyuck doesn’t dare turn to face him, too scared he won’t be able to look away.

“Minhyung,” he greets, bending down from his chair to pick up the hair tie. It’s painted red, with gold streaks to represent fire — a crown prince heirloom passed down to him from his father after the coronation a few years back. Donghyuck gathers his hair back again and clips it together.

“So, you’ve killed her?” That’s the first thing he says. No stalling, no beating around the bush. Donghyuck can tell he isn’t too happy about it. He wants to tell Minhyung the truth, that it was Yeji, that he’s not even sure if Yuna is dead, to begin with — but there’s a time and place for everything.

It doesn’t change the fact that he chose his return to the Fire Nation over the last chance the world had at peace at the end of the day, so there’s no use letting Minhyung on the secret.

“It’s been a while,” he replies instead. Keeping things vague is his best bet for now, because Minhyung can read him like no one else can. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” Minhyung says.

Donghyuck can see him pacing from one side to the other in the corner of his eye. He gets up from his seat and leans out the window, back turned to his friend. Are they still friends? Donghyuck has no idea. Somehow, he can sense that Minhyung is disappointed with him, that he thinks Donghyuck chose wrong.

What Minhyung doesn’t understand is that it’s not that simple telling good apart from bad anymore. The shameful from the honourable. It’s all vague, so vague, and it does nothing but mess with Donghyuck’s head. The only thing he’s really certain of is that he wanted to go back home, no matter the cost. Stop feeling so miserable about himself all the time. Take back the life that his father deprived him of.

See Minhyung again.

“That’s good.” _I worried about you._

“You?”

“I’m good, too.” _I’m confused, Minhyung. I don’t know anything, anymore._ “Happy to be back.”

Then Donghyuck turns around to face him and he can see Minhyung’s breath hitch from across the room. Right, the burn. Donghyuck forgot it’s his friend’s first time seeing it, seeing him with it. Minhyung looks all kinds of things all at once: distressed, galled, upset, _hurt._ The wound with which Donghyuck has lived for three years now must still be fresh to Minhyung.

“You…” he doesn’t finish. “I’m happy you’re back, too. You must have been through a lot.”

It’s strange, reuniting with Minhyung. Every day for the last three years, Donghyuck would imagine how it would play out before going to sleep. He was supposed to fall into Minhyung’s open arms and never leave. Coming back home to him was supposed to be tearful, emotional, dramatic — suitable for two people who love each other as much as they do. He wonders if Minhyung even loves him anymore. How would he sign off a letter to Haechan if he had anything left to say to him?

“You’ve grown a lot,” Donghyuck says. When he left, Minhyung was seventeen. His face was still a bit round and so were his eyes, all wide and innocent. Now, instead of a smile, Donghyuck gets a frown and clench of chiselled jaw. At just twenty years old, Minhyung is more of a man than Donghyuck can ever hope to be.

“You, too,” Minhyung takes a step closer and it feels like victory, albeit far from one. “You’ve grown, too.”

Now, Donghyuck begs to differ. He barely did any growing himself; he’s learned nothing during his exile, which felt more like limbo to float in aimlessly than a path to follow. “You’re still taller,” he says childishly with a little huff.

That elicits a chuckle from Minhyung, a genuine one, and for a second Donghyuck deludes himself into thinking nothing’s changed. “Tough luck, Haechan.”

His chest tightens and breath falls shallow. It’s Minhyung giving him a chance, a chance Donghyuck is far from worthy of. Truth be told, Donghyuck never deserved him, but with Minhyung offering the world, it’s hard not to take, take, _take._ Selfish, presumptuous, and so completely gone.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you,” Donghyuck confesses and he sounds weak, _pitiful_. Part of him, the prideful, resilient one doesn’t want Minhyung to pity him. The other — the tired, lonely one — has nosense of shame. He wants Minhyung to put him first, no matter what the sentiment behind it is.

And Minhyung does just that, the tough act crumbles so quickly Donghyuck can tell it was forced. They have that effect on each other, he thinks, they can break each other with a word, a look, a tilt of head. Donghyuck feels vile for taking advantage of it, but it works wonders. Minhyung is by his side within split second, pulling Donghyuck to him like he can’t hold back any longer. 

“Haechan,” Minhyung repeats, because he knows Donghyuck inside and out, knows just what to say and do. No one will ever know him quite like Minhyung and he doesn’t want anyone to, for the matter. “It’s okay, you’re with me now.”

“I’m sorry,” he doesn’t know what for exactly. He did so many things wrong, everything he does is, by design, wrong. But maybe Minhyung will love him through it.

“No, no, _I’m_ sorry,” maybe it’s just as unconditional as Minhyung would tell him. “I didn’t know how to act.”

“You sounded like you hated me just now.”

“I didn’t hate you,” Minhyung is quick to clarify. But there’s more to it and Donghyuck can tell, it’s not as simple as he’d wish it to be. “I can’t. Do that. It’s, uh, it’s just—when I heard what you did to get back…”

“Oh.” There’s uneasiness pooling in his stomach. Minhyung must have noticed, because he just holds on tighter. It’s not simple, but it will be okay, it has to.

“But you haven’t changed that much, have you?” He says with a pained smile. Minhyung hurts with Donghyuck, and vice versa. It’s always been that way, nothing’s changed. “You were just hurt.”

“It’s okay, now, it’s okay with you,” Donghyuck tells him and he means it, somehow. With Minhyung as the only stable aspect of his life, Donghyuck lets himself pretend he never left. “Are we still…?”

“Yes,” Minhyung brushes Donghyuck’s hair out of his face, fingers grazing the edge of his scar. “If you want us to be.”

“I do,” Donghyuck leans into the pressure, it stopped hurting long ago. The physical way, that is.Minhyung treats it as invitation to thumb over his cheek, tracing over the coarse skin as though pleasant to the touch. Donghyuck knows full well it’s not. “I was so worried you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

“Why would I ever stop?” Minhyung assures him and Donghyuck is too drained to remind him of just how hostile he’d been just minutes ago. He’s been long forgiven, anyways. “If anything, I should be the one worrying — so many letters sent, not a single reply from you.”

“—I wrote back I just—” Donghyuck pauses to mumble. “I just never sent them.”

“ _Haechan_ ,” Minhyung whines in exasperation, but he’s laughing, too. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t think I could,” he explains, and Minhyung’s laughter dies down. “I didn’t think I deserved to.”

Minhyung just hugs him closer.

* * *

They fall back together with practised ease, like muscle memory. It’s like picking up a sword again or bending fire after not having for months. They can’t talk or act freely in the palace, their reunion risky enough already, so whenever they spend time together they make sure to put on the extra distance between them. With the Dai Li on patrol non-stop, they can’t afford to raise any suspicions.

Still, under the guise of a hike or leisure in between his royal duties, Donghyuck has the chance to get Minhyung alone. They know the capital and all its whereabouts, all the places they can stay at without anyone trailing behind them. There, they can talk at ease, never an inch of separation between them.

They spend their mornings like this; Minhyung’s hair is loose, and he unties Donghyuck’s ponytail to thread fingers through his. He’ll take random strands of it and braid them. It’s gentle and intimate and Donghyuck can’t imagine feeling safer.

“Did you miss me?” Donghyuck likes to ask questions he already knows the answers to, just to fish for kind words he’s been lacking.

“Every day when you were gone,” Minhyung indulges, not once turning his attention away. “I missed you so much I came up with a plan to flee and join you.”

“Well, why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t think you’d want to add a deserter on your ship to your problems,” that’s a fair point. Donghyuck forgets Minhyung is a soldier sometimes, there’s nothing soldierly about him in the quiet of dawn. “Also, I’d need more people. And I don’t trust people here.”

“Do you trust me?” Donghyuck frowns.

“I don’t know,” Minhyung offers him candidly, “that’s for me to dwell on and for you to prove.”

“And how do I prove it?” He sits up from the comfort of Minhyung’s lap to look him in the eye, like it’s a challenge.

“I don’t know,” Minhyung repeats, this time with a grin; he often tells Donghyuck he’s most endearing when competitive. “We’ll see, I suppose.”

Afternoons start with training, smiles exchanged in passing, ankles locked under the dinner table. When they’re given a moment to breathe, they’ll go on a walk to the palace gardens or hide away in the abandoned hiking trails of the crater walls that surround the city. When it’s safe to do so, Minhyung struggles to keep away from Donghyuck and it’s nothing Donghyuck doesn’t appreciate. He welcomes the arm around his waist, the head on his shoulder the hand on his knee. They keep him warm when the sun begins to set.

“Have you been seeing other people when I was gone?” He asks, not really sure what answer he’d most like to hear.

Minhyung laughs like he does when Donghyuck is being silly. “Oh, sure. Plenty.”

“It wouldn’t be anything bad if you did,” Donghyuck stresses, just to coax out any necessary confession out of Minhyung. “It’s normal. I’ve been gone three years—”

He doesn’t get to finish his train of thought, because Minhyung’s hands are on his waist and he’s kissing him. It’s instinctive, the way Donghyuck wraps his arms around Minhyung’s neck. There’s no way this could change.

“You think me weak?” Minhyung’s faux indignation is met with a roll of eyes. “It was just three years — don’t look at me like that, I mean three years of torture, obviously — but it’s not enough to have me forget you.”

“But—” It’s pathetic, how much reassurance Donghyuck needs. Or maybe it’s an attempt to sabotage the last good thing in his life when he continues, “—I’m not saying you forgot me, it’s just that you could have killed time. With someone else.”

“Maybe so,” Minhyung shrugs. “But I didn’t.”

“Okay,” Donghyuck balances on his toes. He’s Minhyung’s height when he does.

“Have you?” Minhyung teases.

“I’ve been on a date,” Donghyuck tells him, just to rub it in his face. Minhyung doesn’t react as strongly as he hoped for, though, just a raise of an eyebrow and amused quirk of the mouth is all Donghyuck can get out of him. “My uncle made me go out with this one girl—stop laughing!”

“My apologies. By all means, continue. How was it?”

“Okay,” it really was. Donghyuck just couldn’t think of her as more than an acquaintance or potential friend. “Made me question us.”

“Did it now?” Minhyung isn’t as funny as he thinks he is when he attempts to act upset — he’s a poor actor and his take on heartbreak looks more like constipation. “I guess it’s over now, then?”

Endeared, fond and everything in between, Donghyuck presses his lips to Minhyung’s temple, then kisses him. The grip on his waist tightens.

Evenings, the hand on Donghyuck’s waist is long gone when they separate and it’s painful despite the knowledge they get to see each other again in the morning to follow. Donghyuck would rather not leave Minhyung’s side for the minute, but that’s out of his control. He’ll watch Minhyung watch him return to his room for the night. Donghyuck’s room is directly above his, but it feels far apart. Even inches feel like miles when Minhyung is involved.

The nights, Donghyuck spends sneaking out to do something more dangerous than seeing Minhyung, which is seeing his uncle. It’s never pleasant, but not seeing him is even worse, Donghyuck supposes. It’s heartbreak dipped in awkwardness, when Iroh refuses to turn around to face him, when he doesn’t say a word, when Donghyuck begs him to at least acknowledge him coming but he doesn’t.

At first, he would storm out, livid. Now, Donghyuck just walks out dejectedly, with regret, guilt, anger, sadness, all of it, pooling mercilessly in his chest, coursing through his veins. All he’s left with is a promise of another day with Minhyung, who didn’t ever stop loving him once. Donghyuck wonders if he’s able to.

It’s strangely reminiscent of the days spent in exile when Minhyung’s hawk flies into his room through the open window a few minutes after he gets back. They still talk like this sometimes, so as not to be caught saying anything that could come off as remotely illicit.

_“Dear Haechan,”_ Minhyung writes, “ _did you visit your Uncle? If it’s someone else you’re sneaking out to see, why not me?_

_Yours._

_PS You can obviously meet anyone you like, I’m just joking.”_

In all his sullenness, Donghyuck doesn’t have it in him not to smile at Minhyung’s letter. No longer one to leave him hanging, he replies.

_“Dear,_

_don’t worry too much. Were you listening to see when I came back? How dedicated of you._

_Yours,_

_Haechan.”_

Although Minhyung writes back quickly, Donghyuck imagines him sat at the desk with his quill ready before he even got his reply, the wait is almost unbearable. It’s dangerous, how addicted he is to Minhyung now that he’s known withdrawal.

_“Dear Haechan,_

_I can’t listen to see, it’s contradictory.”_ Donghyuck can’t help the scoff he lets out. _“But I was. What can I say, your coming back safe is a priority of mine these days._

_Yours.”_

_“Dear,_

_I worry for your poor hawk.”_ Donghyuck writes back. If Minhyung is going to play smartass, he might as well one him up. _“Are we going to do this all night? It might get tired flying back and forth._

_Yours,_

_Haechan_

_PS Just these days?”_

He couldn’t help adding the little touch at the end, because he knows Minhyung won’t shy away from reassurance that Donghyuck so desperately needs to feel better with himself.

And Minhyung doesn’t keep him waiting. _“Dear Haechan,_

_I feed it well. It rests during the day. Don’t worry, it’s always been a priority. Are you free tomorrow?_

_Yours.”_

_“Dear,_

_as far as I know, my schedule is unusually empty. I fail to see why it should be any of your concern, I assure you I’m well-rested._

_Yours,_

_Haechan.”_

Minhyung thumps on his ceiling (Donghyuck’s floor) when he gets the letter. Donghyuck thumps back.

“ _Dear Haechan,_

_I’m happy to hear the workload is manageable. Since you’ve got time to spare, I think practice is due.”_ The nerve of him is unbelievable to Donghyuck. _“After all, you took quite the break from training._

_Yours.”_

Slighted, Donghyuck replies, _“Dear,_

_it hurts to know how little you think of my skills. I have practised diligently during my absence. I suppose I could provide you with a demonstration._

_Yours,_

_Haechan.”_

_“Dear Haechan,_

_I would be honoured. I suppose it’s only due to bid you good night, you need to be well-rested for training. Pardon, demonstration. Sleep well._

_Yours.”_

_“Dear,_

_thank you. You, too._

_Yours,_

_Haechan.”_

Donghyuck is ready to lie down and pass out when the hawk comes flying in again. He groans, but all will to get rest is cast aside in favour of Minhyung-related giddiness.

_“Dear Haechan,_

_sorry, I forgot to add something important. You looked really nice today. Now I can sleep easy. Sweet dreams._

_Yours.”_

God, Donghyuck loves when Minhyung doesn’t hold back on praise, compliments, thrives under his attention. It’s been years, but the rush whenever Minhyung shows him even an ounce of affection doesn’t die down. Not even close; Donghyuck is set on fire over and over and over again, but it doesn’t burn. It’s just warm.

But it’s not like Minhyung has to know, “ _Dear,_

_don’t I always? Why do you never tell me in person… Good night._

_Yours,_

_Haechan.”_

_“Dear Haechan,_

_feedback noted. Will start as of tomorrow. Don’t write back, or I’ll have to write you back again and we won’t be getting any sleep. It’s a vicious circle._

_Yours.”_

Minhyung’s right — Donghyuck can’t possibly get enough of him, so sleep is out of the question. Overtaken by a not-so-sudden urge to see Minhyung, he ties his bedsheets into a makeshift rope and fastens it to the window frame. He climbs out, hoping the material is strong enough to hold his weight for a couple of seconds. Thankfully, Minhyung’s window is open, so he slides into his bedroom easily.

“Haechan?” Minhyung lifts his head from where it was pressed to the pillows and rubs his eyes. “What are you—”

“Couldn’t wait to see you,” Donghyuck says simply, sitting down on the edge of Minhyung’s bed.

“Oh,” Minhyung doesn’t seem to have any more qualms, so he moves to the side to make space for Donghyuck. He lies down beside Minhyung readily, the arm hooked around his middle lazily enough to keep him peaceful for now. “You look pretty.”

“You can hardly see me,” the only light that seeps into the room is the faint silver of the moon. Donghyuck himself can barely make out Minhyung’s face.

“You told me to say it in person, so I said it in person,” Minhyung mumbles, tired but not too tired to prove Donghyuck a point. “It’s not like I didn’t spend the whole day thinking it.”

“You did?”

Minhyung doesn’t pick up on the teasing tone, or doesn’t care. He just presses Donghyuck closer to him, looking like he might pass out any minute now. “I’m not blind, Haechan. Goodnight, now.”

“Goodnight,” Donghyuck says, falling into Minhyung like he falls into routine. He lives, grasps onto every precarious string of happiness and ties it around his memory like a blindfold. Minhyung lets him forget, the guilt, the anger, the desperation, even just for a while. A breath of air he starts and ends his days with.

* * *

Something Donghyuck was reminded of upon his return, was just how much he liked to bend fire. He didn’t always; back when he was still a child, classes were a chore. He’s never been a natural, unlike Yeji who was fire personified. Donghyuck has always been the more subdued, sensitive kid and the bending he was taught was primarily for combat, ensuing a conflict of inclinations.

Then came Minhyung.

They met young, Donghyuck barely scraping eleven years old with Minhyung just one year older. His father decided that since Donghyuck was destined to be a subpar firebender by his standards, he was to pursue another line of combat. He picked sword fighting, and was immediately enrolled in classes with one Master Piandao. Minhyung and he were his youngest students.

Minhyung was already incredibly skilled for his age, and Donghyuck couldn’t help idolising him.And, well, Minhyung didn’t mind his company, so they would spend their free time with each other. They were rarely seen without the company of the other; when Minhyung took up dual broadswords, Donghyuck did, too, so that they could train together.

Two halves of a single weapon, they were taught.

When their training was complete, Piandao told Donghyuck himself that friends like Minhyung are for lifetimes. Donghyuck was unfazed by the gravity of his words — if anything, he felt secure. He wanted to grow up with Minhyung, his best friend.

Even if Donghyuck wanted to get rid of Minhyung, it was nothing short of impossible. The older, you see, is a member of the Sei’naka clan, whose fire bending masters trained the royal family and avatars alike over the years. Though lower-ranked, Minhyung was closest to Donghyuck’s age, and was expected to become the prince’s training partner at one point.

And so, Minhyung was recruited as somewhat of a tutor, more training partner. Almost thirteen and just at the onset of his military training, he moved to the palace in the spring. Donghyuck was worried, at first — he was a natural at swordsmanship, a quick learner who could manage to keep up with Minhyung. Fire bending was different, he didn’t stand a chance. Accustomed to being made feel inferior, Donghyuck almost expected the same treatment from Minhyung despite their initial friendship, he was waiting for his lack of skill to be rubbed in his face.

He quickly learned it’s not a very Minhyung thing to do, though. No, Minhyung was all positive reinforcement, praising Donghyuck for what he did right, correcting him gently where he would go wrong. Bending was no longer about battle, but holding a little bundle of life in your palms, letting it warm the tips of your fingers. It was about an exchange of energy, steadying and fluctuating its flow at one’s command.

At fourteen, Donghyuck was already in love with fire bending. At fifteen, he was in love with Minhyung.

“Can you bend lightning?” Donghyuck asks now. They’re practising a more advanced sequence with Minhyung, who seems to know it like the back of his hand. It would be no surprise if he mastered that, too.

“On a good day,” Minhyung shrugs, before sending a charged attack Donghyuck’s way, which he misses, albeit narrowly. He manages to keep his balance when dodging, and chucks a pinwheel that almost grazes Minhyung’s shoulder. “I need the right mindset, all that. Try the whip on me.”

Donghyuck halts momentarily, which Minhyung doesn’t use to gain advantage. “Are you sure? I lose control of it sometimes, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Go ahead, I’ll dodge,” Minhyung assures him. It’s never about a real fight between them, all their attacks are precise, both of them mindful of not harming each other. The focus is more about gaining the upper hand, but never about the final blow.

Appeased by Minhyung’s encouragements, Donghyuck bends a whip, twists the fire around his wrist and between his fingers for security. As promised, Minhyung manages to escape every single one of Donghyuck’s charges. He’s agile, even more than Donghyuck remembers him to be all these years back.

Still, if there’s anything Donghyuck knows about Minhyung, it’s his weaknesses. He’s one of them, after all, but it’s not just that. Minhyung can be quite clumsy when he’s not concentrating enough, so long as Donghyuck can distract him—

“Oh, my God!” He lets the fire drop to the ground and points up at one of the palace towers, putting on his most shocked expression. Curiosity getting the better of him, Minhyung looks up immediately. It allows Donghyuck to pick up the whip and sending it flying in a slicing motion close enough to Minhyung’s legs to send him flying back instinctively. He falls back on the ground, but before he can pick himself up, Donghyuck pins him down.

“Low blow,” Minhyung huffs out, but sends a proud smile his way. Donghyuck grabs his hand and pulls him up. “You got better. I let you win, though”

“Sure you did,” Donghyuck scoffs.

“You need to show me lightning bending soon,” Minhyung says, sitting down under the birch tree’s shade to rest. “I’m still learning.”

“I don’t know how to lightning bend,” Donghyuck frowns, “where did you get that from?”

“Wait,” Minhyung says, incredulously, “are you serious? You’ve never bent lightning?”

“No,” Donghyuck insists, “I mean, Uncle tried teaching me, but it never worked. If anything, I need you to teach me.”

Minhyung tilts his head, like he does when he tries to comprehend something that he deems beyond him. Donghyuck never gets the chance to ask him what had him so confused, because he gets called for a war council meeting. His father has him sit on his right side, now; if that wasn’t shocking enough, Ozai doesn’t just have his son sitting petulantly — he seeks Donghyuck’s opinion on game plans and strategies and whatnots.

It’s confusing, almost like a fever dream. He should be ecstatic, Donghyuck, he should be overtaken with joy at his father’s respect. His father’s love, or at least something that resembles it. But it doesn’t feel real, Donghyuck can’t help questioning every possible motive, every underlying resentment. Their relationship inherently cannot be genuine; it’s with bitterness that he realises his father only cares because Donghyuck is said to have killed Yuna. And if Donghyuck isn’t capable of that — well, it’s all fraudulent, really.

But it’s more. The longer he stays, the more convinced he is that he’s made a mistake. Hearing his father’s plans of further colonisation bring bile to the back of his throat instead of pride. He’s always been taught the Fire Nation extends its prosperity over other peoples, but now—

—now he fears it’s just cruelty. And that’s just not the fire he’s ever wanted to bend.

* * *

_“Dear Haechan,_

_how’s your vacation? I miss you._

_Yours.”_

_“Dear,_

_was on beach. Then went home. You’re useless for not sneaking out to see me._

_Yours, albeit regretfully,_

_Haechan.”_

_“Dear Haechan,_

_now that you’ve started responding, I see how one has to be careful what one wishes for. I would sneak out if we were on the same island, but sea travel is beyond my stealth capabilities. Unless you prefer I swim, but I’ll get there after you’ve already returned home. Fate is not on our side._

_Yours.”_

_“Dear,_

_when was it ever?_

_Yours regardless,_

_Haechan.”_

* * *

“What are you assigned to do?” He asks Minhyung late in the night, after having sneaked into his room again. They’ve been doing it more often, it’s almost every night that Donghyuck finds himself sliding through Minhyung’s open window. That is, unless Minhyung beats him to it, climbing over the ledge into Donghyuck’s bedroom.

“On Black Sun?” Donghyuck nods. There’s just a couple of days left. “I’m in the undergrounds, guarding the corridor with your bunker. And Yeji’s.”

This helps. “Remember,” Donghyuck chokes up, “remember you told me…”

“What exactly?”

“Remember when you told me you had an escape plan? To see me?” Donghyuck says. “What was that all about?”

“Well,” Minhyung leans closer to whisper directly into Donghyuck’s ear, “it started when they brought in the airships.”

“Airships?” Donghyuck asks, trying very, very hard to stay focused. “What about them?”

“They’re mostly in storage, often left without guard,” Minhyung explains, and each punctuated breath sends goosebumps up Donghyuck’s skin. “It’s easier to flee in an airship than on a boat. The port is always full of people, while no one would pay much mind to an airship.”

“Smart,” Donghyuck responds, dumbly. God, he’ll miss this.

“Thank you, I try,” Minhyung lets out a muted laugh, “why the sudden interest?”

“I, uh—” Donghyuck balls the hands lying on Minhyung’s chest into fists to muster the courage, “—I want to. Flee.”

Minhyung pulls back to take a good look at him, like he does when he’s trying to read him. As always, he succeeds, “when?” He asks, being made aware Donghyuck is serious.

“Black Sun,” he explains. “My father won’t physically have the power to stop me.”

“Why?” Minhyung falls back onto a mattress with a faint sigh.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Donghyuck begins to tell him, “I don’t want to be part of—”

“No, Haechan, I know why you’re leaving,” Minhyung interrupts him. “Why would you tell me about this now? Couldn’t you have given me a heads-up before? At least a week, not, what is it, four days?”

“I didn’t know until recently that I’d be going,” he replies. “I’ve made up my mind today.”

“Okay,” Minhyung sighs again, “okay. I’ll help you, then. Do you know how to pilot an airship?”

“I took lessons.”

“Good. Do I come with you?”

“Too dangerous,” Donghyuck shakes his head immediately. “The more people come—”

“The riskier it would be, yes,” Minhyung finishes, immediately. “What’s your plan? After you get out?”

“I’m going to find Yuna,” he says, “and teach her fire bending. I think she’s alive.”

To his surprise, Minhyung seems unfazed. “Okay. I suppose that’s the only thing that can stop this.”

“You knew?” Donghyuck asks. “You knew she was alive?”

“I had my suspicions,” he hums. “I was just waiting for you to tell me, really. It wasn’t adding up, you go around saying you of all people killed the Avatar, I’m told the Avatar was struck by lightning, then you tell me you can’t bend lightning — something was off.”

“Oh,” Donghyuck lets out, “ _oh_.”

“Bad liar, Haechan,” Minhyung offers him a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. “Bad, bad liar. A terrible one. You have to keep the story consistent.”

“Only you figured out,” he argues meekly.

“I guess I’m smart, you said yourself,” Minhyung says, “I think I’m smart about all things you.” Maybe he is. It’s a little embarrassing, how Minhyung knows him better than he knows himself — he probably knew Donghyuck was going leave long before he entertained that choice himself. But mostly… mostly it’s just comfortable.

“Be good, here,” Donghyuck cups Minhyung’s face, pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t do anything dangerous.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious, be safe.”

“ _You_ be safe,” Minhyung insists. “I hate you hurting more than anything in the world.”

“Is this…why?” Donghyuck asks.

“Why what?”

“You don’t like the way things are here,” he clarifies.

“It was an eye-opener,” Minhyung tells him. “I’d—I talked about it with your uncle, sometimes. He understood. He lost a son to war and I lost a…”

He doesn’t finish. Donghyuck thinks there really is no right way to put it.

“I think what made me think was the people I met when I was banished,” Donghyuck tells him. “They had scars, just like mine. On legs, arms, faces. And they never deserved them, and I realised no one deserves what we’ve been doing to people. To others and ourselves.”

“He’d be proud, your uncle,” Minhyung says.

“I can only hope,” Donghyuck swallows. “He won’t speak to me when I come.”

“I know I am,” Minhyung brushes through his hair, voice calm, collected. It’s reassuring and reassurance is something Donghyuck needs now more than ever. “Don’t worry, it will be okay. It was okay with me, in the end.”

“But you’re different.” It’s fathers Donghyuck has a penchant for letting down, after all.

“Still, it will all be okay. Just trust me.”

He says that, but when he thinks Donghyuck’s asleep already, he grips onto him like a lifeline. Minhyung’s muffled crying echoed in his head the entire night.

* * *

While it’s awkward between them, Donghyuck can acknowledge Jeno’s attempts at making small talk. It’s comforting that they’re both trying to stay civil. That Jeno doesn’t seem to resent him as much as Chaeryeong. 

It does take a more serious turn, though, but Donghyuck supposes most small talk is serious when there’s war. “You didn’t leave behind anyone you cared about?” Jeno asks, referring to Donghyuck’s fleeing of the Fire Nation.

“Well, I did have someone.” Donghyuck answers vaguely. It’s not like he can say more.

Or can he? “My first boyfriend turned into the moon,” Jeno tells him, as a consolation of sorts. He says it so casually and Donghyuck has trouble understanding how. At his silence, Jeno raises a brow — challenging.

“That’s rough, buddy,” Donghyuck says, and adds, after a second of hesitation, “mine wanted to come with and all, but I couldn’t drag him into it. Too dangerous. So, he stayed back.”

“Oh,” Jeno’s lips quirk up in relief. “What was he like?”

“Minhyung was…” Donghyuck pauses. He’s so many things it’s hard to narrow it down. “Minhyung is like me. But more stubborn.”

“Man,” Jeno whistles, “I never wanna meet the guy, then.”

Now, Donghyuck is no lie-detecting earth bender, but he can tell Jeno doesn’t mean that.

* * *

_“Dear Haechan,_

_how are you feeling?_

_Yours.”_

_“Dear Minhyung,_

_you can just come over to my room now, you know?_

_Yours,_

_Donghyuck”_

Soon after releasing the hawk, Donghyuck hears a knock on his door. He opens it himself, revealing none other than Minhyung. He’s out of his military uniform and his hair is down, much like himself. Minhyung doesn’t wait to be invited in, he sits down on the armchair beside the desk without unnecessary poise. Donghyuck lies down on the bed instead, making enough room for Minhyung to join him.

He does, but not immediately. Hiding is a habit that neither of them grew out of entirely, mostly because it’s still unclear how much they’re allowed. There’s no Dai Li to report to Yeji and no Yeji to report to their father, but something’s telling Donghyuck it’s not okay, at least not in public.

It’s better to pretend it’s just them, moments like these, so Donghyuck has Minhyung lock the door and draw the curtains even though it’s still before noon. Then, he lies his head on Minhyung’s chest and his heart is at peace. He doesn’t want to do anything but this for the rest of his life.

“So,” he feels Minhyung’s chest vibrate as he speaks, “how _are_ you feeling?”

“Now?” Donghyuck looks up at him with a stupid smile. “Perfect.”

Unfortunately for Donghyuck, there’s no room for deflection with the person who knows you inside and out. Minhyung just raises his eyebrows and gestures for him to continue, “what about before?”

“It’s nothing, I was just thinking,” it’s hardly a lie.

Before Minhyung wrote, Donghyuck was reminiscing about one of their later memories together, when he had barely turned fifteen. Although he had been born into royalty, Donghyuck had never quite got used to social events, always quick to make a fool of himself. Minhyung, perfectly aware of his adversity, would make fun of him quite as much as he would pity him.

That time, having sensed Donghyuck’s discomfort during a particularly strained conversation with someone of some importance, Minhyung had interrupted, grim-faced and sombre.

_“Could I borrow him?”_ He had asked the general, or whoever that was, quickly following up with a vague explanation of, _“family issues.”_ It had done the trick; Donghyuck slipped away into the corridor after Minhyung, not yet aware of his act.

_“What’s wrong?”_ Donghyuck had asked, mood even more sour than before. It had been quite the scare Minhyung had given him.

_“Oh, nothing,”_ Minhyung had shrugged. _“Thought you needed an excuse to sneak out.”_ Donghyuck remembers thinking at that moment that you really need to love somebody a lot to know them so well.

Royalty, he supposes four years later, is a bit like a long-term function, a social event extending over the years. And while he’s beyond relief to still have Minhyung by his side to keep him company, it doesn’t make the prospect of bearing the crown any less exhausting.

“Well, isn’t that great news! I was starting to lose hope,” Minhyung teases him in reply, giving his waist a squeeze. “What were you thinking about?”

“Can I tell you something?” Donghyuck asks instead, not in the mood to relive childhood nostalgia.

“I’m here for you to tell me things,” Minhyung reminds him, and while Donghyuck supposes it’s the case, he doesn’t want to take Minhyung allowing him to be a burden for granted.

“I don’t—I don’t really want to be Fire Lord. I mean, I will, it’s, well, the right thing to do. But it’s not something I actually want for myself,” he struggles to explain, but Minhyung gets it like he always does.

“Maybe you can talk to your Uncle, get him to take over for the next couple of years, or something,” his boyfriend’s first instinct when Donghyuck tells him about his problems is to offer a solution. Comforting most of the time, it doesn’t really help much now, when there’s nothing either of them can do.

“It’ll come down to it eventually, though,” Donghyuck reminds him, playing with the shell of his ear. “There’s no escaping it in the long run.”

“What would you do?” Minhyung then offers. “If you were free to do anything you wanted with your life.”

“Anything?” Donghyuck sits up. “Well, back in Ba Sing Se, my Uncle had this, uh, he had a tea shop.”

“Tea shop?”

“It wasn’t much, but he was happy,” he says. “And I wondered sometimes, how a general can be satisfied with his aspiration in life being so simple. But as days went by, I liked it more. The simplicity of it all.”

“So, tea shop?” Minhyung gets up, hooking his chin over Donghyuck’s shoulder.

“No, let me finish,” Donghyuck tuts. “I just...I thought about you a lot at that time. I mean I always do.”

“You do?”

“Don’t act surprised,” he scoffs.

“I guess I shouldn’t be,” Minhyung admits himself. “It’s still nice to hear, though. So, you thought about me?”

“I kind of...I imagined what it would be like living like this with you. No responsibilities or obligations, just us and our simple life. No one else to care about me but you.”

“Ba Sing Se tea shop worker,” Minhyung hums like he’s considering it. “It does sound rather nice. If you want to flee the country again, it could be arranged.”

“Be careful, or I’ll actually take you up on it,” Donghyuck turns to face him. “You’d come with me, right?”

“Now that I can, I’d follow you anywhere,” Minhyung says this with mock seriousness to ease tension and drive Donghyuck’s attention away from how much he actually means it. He doesn’t quite succeed. “If you’ll have me,” he adds, shier.

“Anyways,” Donghyuck coughs back a grin, “it’s a waste of time dwelling on it, isn’t it?”

“How so?” Minhyung rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’ve got the life I have and it’s not bad,” Donghyuck bites his lip, poking Minhyung in the chest. “So, it’s better to think about all the things I’d like to do, now. In the realm of plausibility.”

“Tell me, then,” Minhyung humours him. “What are you going to do now, Haechan?”

“Well, I need to do restoration work, reparations,” Donghyuck yawns for the effect. “And I reckon it’s hard to make up for a hundred years of damage holed up in the Capital City, what thinks you?”

“You’re hardly ever wrong,” his boyfriend replies.

“So, what do you say if you come with me?” Donghyuck has seen quite a lot but nothing quite as beautiful as the way Minhyung’s eyes light up at the promise of the world. “Not just us, obviously, there would be advisors and whatnots and hell, probably Yuna and the rest, but—”

“Why do you act like you need to convince me?”

“I think it’s out of respect.”

“ _Respect, he says_ ,” Minhyung snorts. “I’ll go. I’d go even if you didn’t want me to.”

“And you think you’re one to preach about respect,” Donghyuck chastises mockingly. “You’re going to like it. All the different places. You’re _the kind_.”

“You say it like it’s bad,” Minhyung sulks. For someone so good at reading Donghyuck, he sounds ridiculous.

“I say it like it’s loveable,” Donghyuck tells him. “Suppose I’m tired of just how loveable you can get.”

“Is that so?” Minhyung grins, pulling Donghyuck onto his lap. It’s so normal, so right to be with him, Donghyuck notices, they really must have been meant to be in one way or another. “Tell me all about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmaooo okay that was a thing!!! thank u so much for reading this omg...im ending the series here altho in like two years when i have my avatar rewatch and im still a silly kpoppie i might add katara x azula and sokka x jet sequels that ive come up with in my silly head...anyways, that's it for now lmao 
> 
> [buy me a ko-fi](http://ko-fi.com/joonswig) // [twitter](https://twitter.com/neotshy) // [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1YYf82S6XWbyHfQ6uRsl9x?si=ifTnBzFAR_yX1O2ucIUSJA)


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